^ -LUrv 



"\ ^^— <i^'v-^ H725P5- 



S 2809 
S76 
opy 1 



-"On Connait L'ami au besoin 



I m ¥m 




inc fimm 



^AN-ToAaIL^ O^a^ 






o 



FLi^T 



11 o 



Fl^tb 



JAN & 1892 



(all rights reserved) 



\ DRAMATIC POCn. 




IN EARLY EVENING HE HAD STOOD 
BESIDE THE BRIGHT THEATRE DOOR. 



The Play and the Player. 



fi 



wake ! Oh soul, unto thyself awake ! 
Come, scan this gaudy and deceiving 
Palace, in which thou dost calmly dwell 
Come, face thyself with clear impartial 
Eyes, then cast aside the usurped 
mask of sympathy. 



Pity him, pit>' him, see how he wanders. 
Slowly, and feeble through the blinding snow 
Searching for charity, on hope he ponders. 
Fallen from purity, wretchedly low. 

His aged limbs, his threadbare clothes, 
Are outward signs of inward woes ; 
His snow-white hair, his withered brow. 
Show sorrows' emblem plainly now. 

Oh, cruel, unrelenting fate ! 
That such a man must walk so late, 
Through howling winds, and drifting snow, 
Not knowing whither he shall go. 

No tire to warm, no place to sleep, 
No home, no friends to let him in ; 
An outcast, left alone to weep, 
And brood o'er past, remorseful sin. 



In early evening he had stood 
Beside the bright theatre door ; 
And craved a pittance to buy food, 
As he had often done before. 

A young man with a pretty maid, 
Had passed him by, but paused — 
And to his smiling damsel said — 
" I'll help this man to buy some bread, 
His aching feet are sure to tread, 
Where givers most are dead." 

So said, he from his pocket drew 

A nickel, bright, and new : 

And dropped it into his shaking hat. 

And pleasantly said — " I'll give you that — 

If every one would be so good, 

You would never want for bed, nor food." 

The old man raised his head to see 
What soul was bent on charity ; 
And with a feeble voice he spoke — 
" Oh God, your blessmg I invoke. 
Upon this youth, his noble gift, 
Shall from my heart, a burden lift." 

'* Oh I had thought that all were blind 

To the pangs, and the woes, of a wretch like me ; 

But now I know we still can find, 

One heart that is moved by pure sympathy." 



No other hand had yet bestowed 
An offering to assist him. 
No one could see the thorny road, 
The rocks and ridges, high and low. 
The rutted path of ice and snow. 
O'er which a pauper's feet must go. 

To see the play, the young man went, 
A drama, sad and dreary ; 
Which to his heart a feeling sent. 
Of pity for the weary. 

Which brought back scenes of his childhood days. 
Of his father, and his mother's care ; 
Whom he had left with an angry phrase. 
And sought a home, with his friends, elsewhere. 

The plot of the play, was indeed, very sad. 

Of a father and his wayward son ; 

Whom he had given all that he had. 

And was left to perish, for what he had done. 

To beg in the streets for a morsel to eat. 
And to sleep on the cold, bare stones ; 
Rejected from mankind with no one to meet. 
Or to hear his low, piteous groans. 



Thus through his part the player went, 
Until at last his dying came ; 
Then every mortal's head was bent, 
To hear if he would now repent, 
Or rue the days that he had spent 
hi misery, and shame. 

But no, with joy he cried aloud : 
*M'll go, I'll go, I do not fear. 
Come take me in this ragged shroud. 
My soul is pure, mine eyes are clear, 
I see the heartless sinners here, 
I long to go to a brighter sphere." 

" My son, oh yes, my prodigal boy. 
God ! Where on earth can he now be ? 
With him 1 bought and sold my joy. 
Oh, does he ever think of me ? 
For him I'm tossed on this angry sea. 
To the calm at the pier of Eternity." 

His head sank deep into the snow. 

His arms fell numb at his side ; 

He whispered something in a tone very low. 

His feeble heart was beating slow. 

He struggled, but in vain he tried, 

To make confession, ere he died. 

How silent, oh how solemn was his death ! 
No sound was heard, save heavy sighs, 
Each one was wont to hold their breath, 
And trickling tears had filled their eyes. 



How many there, whose souls were moved, 
Would fain have sprung upon the stage 
And publicly their pity proved ? 
How many, though in times of rage, 
Had scoffed, and scorned him ere he told 
His bitter tale of old. 

How many troubled hearts were bled. 
And taught what mortal man must bear ; 
The tears of misery he must shed. 
The trials of want, and grim despair. 

But that was a play, a mockery of a distressed. 
And humble smitten soul. 
Not wrought with feelings much oppressed, 
Nor with heart-felt prayers for eternal rest, 
Nor with weary, craving, famishing test, 
Urged speedily to his goal. 

Yet all their sympathies were tried, 

And the mimic now had many friends: 

Each seemed forgetful of the pride, 

That ranks, and rules, and oft contends 

With inner virtues, that would side, 

With those who are hurled on the stormy tide. 

But now the end had come, the curtain dropped, 
And the crowd was quickly leaving ; 
Yet not one mortal turned, or stopped, 
To see a brother grieving. 



How suddenly their minds were changed, 
And the softened pity turned to stone ; 
For within, all things were so arranged, 
And without, was viewed the counterpart — 
Most miserably alone. 

Oh fickle, unsubstantial man, 

To scorn thy needy, suffering friend, 

Who stands with no one to defend, 

Or help to solve the dreaded plan 

Of wretchedness, that lures him to his end. 

The young man took his lady home, 

Then pressing backward, through the snoWj 

Was walking toward his own ; 

When unexpectedly he heard, 

A muffled sound, a choking word, 

A sigh, and then a groan. 

He turned, and much to his surprise, 
A man was low before his eyes. 
Exhausted, and forlorn. 
He raised him gently, bade him speak, 
Although his voice seemed very weak. 
He still had strength to mourn. 

''Come, break my icy tears," he said, 
"Come smooth my hoary wrinkled head, 
Oh warm my freezing heart: 
Or kneel beside me here and pray. 
That God might bear me fast away, 
From woes that ne'er depart." 



"One nickel, have 1 here, 'tis all, 
No passer heard my feeble call, 
No strang:er felt my arief. 
Oh, can my Saviour see me now, 
As here in agony I bow. 
Imploring due relief ! " 

A moment now in silent prayer. 

Both heads were turned toward the sky. 

And seeking blissful solace there. 

The thick gray clouds were passing by, 

And the moon threw forth one silvery ray — 

The light of hope, the dawn of day. 

''Come, come, poor sinner, to my cot, 

I'll share with thee my humble lot, 

Though scanty it may be. 

I'll give thee food, and clothes to wear. 

And armor thee against despair, 

If that should still haunt thee." 

So on they went through sleet and snow. 

Unmindful of the distance ; 

The old man's aged limbs were slow, 

His silvery head was bowed down low. 

Which made it difficult to go 

Without some kind assistance. 

They reached the young man's home at last, 
And they slowly climbed the creaking stair ; 
The dreaded journey now was past. 
And bliss seemed waiting, kindling there. 



10 



" Be seated, sir," the young man said, 
** Close by this strange, but welcome heat, 
And warm thy cold and stiffenincr feet. 
1 shall at once prepare a treat, 
For you, and 1, to join and eat, 
Hre we turn into bed." 

** But no," the old man faintly cried, 
"I'm almost gone, I cannot eat : 
Why should my drooping soul abide, 
Why pause to scan, or shrink to meet 
My Lord, my home, my destiny ; 
My balm, my crown, my victory ? " 

** Oh, good sir, you are only weak, 
And by my food, new strength shall grow ; 
The pallor on thy hollowed cheek 
Shall turn to that of budding health. 
And all thy life, and all thy wealth. 
Shall be from want, or woe." 

The old man bowed his palsied head. 
And clasped his hands in prayer ; 
And thanked his gracious (jod who led 
Him safe to harbor there. 

He thought of all his by-gone days. 
Of all his saddened years ; 
Without one earthly friend to praise, 
Or to soothe his flowing tears. 



1.1 



" My joints are stiff, mine eyes (^row dim, 
Life's tide is ebbing fast away ; 
What joy I liave to lool\ towards him, 
Who bids me watch, and wait, and pray. 

" Oh, Death thou art a winsome friend. 
How oft would I have joined thee. 
When trials and troubles bore me down, 
And when affliction's rigid frown. 
Had stamped my face that all might see, 
The pangs of woe, and destiny. 

" But now when joy springs up at last, 
And I another day would live ; 
Oh, must I say my life is past. 
My heart, and all, to thee I give ! 

** To death these old bones I must yield, 

A burden it is to ha\e them. 

I would not raise the mighty shield. 

Nor cross the raging battlefield. 

As I have done with heavy breast, 

No ! God, I pray thee, give me rest. 

'* How long should 1 ha\e had to roam, 
On earth without a friend, or home. 
With pleadings all in \ain : 
Had not this noble, Christ-like boy, 
Awakened, and restored my joy, 
To live, to hope again." 



12 



The you no; man stepped up to his side, 

As if to cheer him ere he died, 

Or to lio;hten all his shame ; 

But as he stood with moody brow, 

Not knowing when to speak, or how 

To ask the old man's name. 

At length, however, he thus began : 
" My poor, forlorn, and wretched man, 
Pray let me hear your tale ; 
And furthermore, I'll ask your name, 
And what through life has been your aim. 
Or caused your plans to fail?" 

The old man rolled his stony eyes. 

And forked his tangled hair ; 

And looked like one who vainly tries 

To falter, or to sympathize. 

With all the ills, and moans, and cries. 

Of melancholy's lair. 

'* My name," said he, " is Hstabrook, 
1 once was County Office Clerk ; 
But since, 1 knew not where to look 
To get the meanest kind of work. 

" I had a son, a wayward boy, 
Most stubborn, yet kind hearted. 
He left his home, to seek, to toy. 
With — tickle, base, licentious joy. 
With glaring sins that soon decoy, 
The thoughtless youth when started." 



13 



"But now he s dead, he's past and o;one, 

At least, I'm forced to think' so. 

But where? Ah, that's what makes me mourn 

To think that his poor soul was born, 

To face his God, and then be torn, 

To Satan, down below." 

*' But he ma\' Ii\'e," the young man said, 
'' Though you have sought for many years. 
And ranked himi with the silent dead. 
Why should >-ou weep, and waste your tears. 
While he, perhaps, may laugh and sneer, 
At the name of he, who brought him here." 

But still the old man shook his head. 
And sobbingly declared — " He's dead. 
He's passed be>'ond earth's pain. 
Oh, what a happy time 'twould be. 
To ha\-e m\- son brought back to me, 
To see him once again." 

" But keep up courage, don't lose hope, 
Thougli all is dark, still we can grope 
To the bright, and blazing flame. 
Describe _\'our son ; was he slim and tall, 
Was he dark or light, or stout and small ? 
Come, tell me his full name? " 

" A handsome, statelv lad, was he, 
With a brow that told of his sympathy. 
And a heart that was wont to save. 
A soul that was turned from heavenly fear 
By the rank, degrading follies here. 
That sped him to his gra\e." 



14 



" Oh, liow his aged mother wept, 

As oil through misery she crept, 

With a prayer for her erring child. 

How oft she dreamed that he came once more, 

With his double rap at the old house door, 

And begged to be reconciled. 

" But all was vain, hope lent its charm, 
And the trials of patience wore ; 
He's gone, 1 know, he's passed from harm, 
I'll see him nevermore. 

"And now to tell you his full name, 
The name his blessed mother took ; 
For his, and mine, were just the same, 
'Twas — Thomas — William — Estabrook." 

The young man fell back in his chair. 
Erect he sat, with glaring eyes, 
And one long fixed, and searching stare. 
With a deathly pallor on his cheek, 
He tried, but all in vain, to speak, 
And struggled hard to rise. 

At length he spoke — "Am 1 awake ? 
Why should I weep, and strive to break 
The heart that sheltered one ? 
Oh, but that one, that faithful one. 
Almighty God ! What have I done ? 
Look up, poor man, I — am — your — son." 



15 



** You, my son, my long lost boy ? 
The one who wrecked my sail of joy, 
Who caused me all this grief ! 
Oh ! yes, I see the likeness now, 
Your mother's curved angelic brow, 
Stands out in true relief. 

"Embrace me, come, let's mix our tears, 
Let's drown our faults in the tide of years, 
hi the ultimate flood of woe. 
Come, come, my boy, I can't stay here. 
The Lord of hosts stands waiting near, 
I'm forced, compelled to go. 

**Oh, what a sight will heaven be, 
The magnificent realm of God ; 
The palace of futurity, 
Where Saints so long have trod. 

"How few the dwellers of this peace. 
This bright eternal home on high ; 
Where joy shall never, never cease. 
And where no soul shall die." 

"Ah, yes, but father, look below. 

To the kingdom, and the throne of woe, 

How shocking that will be ! 

There, packed in an immovable space. 

The groaning soul shall find a place, 

hi torture, and in agony, throughout eternity.' 



16 



*'But tell me, father, of m\' mother, 

How, or where is she ? 

Has she crossed the sea of sorrow, 

is she here in po\'erty ? 

Has she still her soul to borrow 

Alms to hold her wretched life ? 

Or, has death freed her from this 

Endless, cruel, taunting, bitter strife." 

'Mt was on a sultrv summer night, 

The moon, the stars, were shining bright, 

And all nature was in bloom. 

The cry, the cheer, and the melody, 

Of festive throngs, was borne to me. 

Through clouds of the darkest gloom. 

"My wife, most dangerously ill, 

Was lying low beneath the sill 

Of a dingy attic room : 

And I, unfit for the dolor's haughty scorn, 

Almost resolved to wait and mourn, 

To breast the inevitable doom. 

** But as 1 sat with sad devotion, 
All my thoughts, and deep emotion, 
Seemed to gather, more and more : 
Until sounds of grie\'ous moaning, 
Uncouth sobs, and fearful groaning, 
Told me death was at the door." 



17 



" I arose, and stood in darkness thinking, 

How to keep myself from slirinking, 

How to hold my wife from sinking 

hito that cold pauper's grave. 

Not a hope of getting labor, 

Not one earthly friend, or neighbor, 

Gave his hand to soothe or save. 

''Frantically I crossed the portal. 
Seeking some benignant mortal, 
Who would tender timely aid. 
Yet within that wealthy city. 
There was not one sign of pity, 
For the struggles I had made. 

'' A crowd of men I accosted then, 

At the side of a bar-room door ; 

But they all turned their backs to me, 

And scowled and jeered me shamefully. 

And called me a tramp of the lowest degree, 

For the signs of a tramp I bore. 

*' I told them in a sobbing tone, 
My wife was dying, and alone. 
And begged them to reflect ; 
For all my hope lies in your power, 
Her life depends upon this hour. 
For God's sake, don't neglect — '' 



18 



''They cut me short, with a violent *No ! ' 

And ordered me at once to go, 

And cursed me there as well. 

They pushed me on with a terrible oath, 

And said 'twere better if we both 

Were passing down to hell. 

*' I turned, not knowing where to roam, 
Discouraged, back towards my home. 
And crossed the splinty tloor. 
I listened, but no sound was heard, 
Save the warbling of a merry bird. 
That sang out tunes of lore. 

'' I paced the hallway, to and fro, 
With fear that she was now too low 
To breathe one hour more. 
With throbbing heart, and tearful eyes. 
And heavy, painful, choking sighs, 
I opened — wide — the — door." 

*' Speak out, dear father, with thy tongue, 
Let not thy downcast eyes impart 
What words have now begun. 
Speak out ! for now my wounded heart 
Is charged against the piercing dart, 
Of all things tried, or done." 



19 



** Well then, I stepped up to the trundle-bed, 

And watched the creeping pallor steal 

Where life almost had fled. 

I, saw her struggle, gasp for breath, 

I raised her, but — alas ! alas ! 

Poor soul ! She — starved — to — death." 

" Dead ! Dead ! is my mother dead? 

The one whom I have longed to see. 

Who tenderly had cared for me, 

Throughout my infancy ! 

Oh, no, no, no, this cannot be — 

What misty haze is this I see? 

She dead, for want of bread? " 

'* Bear up, my son, bear up, 
Sure God will help us all. 
While a hundred men do prosper. 
It needs be one must fall. 
While we battle through misfortunes, 
We still have one good thought. 
That we'll all be tried and balanced. 
For that which we have wrought." 

"Oh, prithee, father, tell me not 

Of God's proclaimed, and bounteous lot, 

Of bliss that lies in store. 

While here, within this grasping school. 

Unending selfishness must rule, 

In guilt, for evermore. 



20 



"Oh, why was I not standinor there ? 
To see her on the coast of sighs ; 
To rid her of that bleak despair, 
To close her dying eyes." 

'* But do not weep, my noble son, 
'Tis well that you cannot retrace 
The death bed of that faithful one. 
Nor see her shriveled face. 

"\t haunts me, Oh, that piteous sight, 

Comes up before me, day and night. 

Like the ghost of one who was slain. 

I've prayed to God for this trial to cease. 

For my soul to be drawn through the gates of 

peace, 
Where no heart will be known to complain. 

'*Tis painful, what you've heard, 1 know, 
And all your tears shall freely flow, 
Till the cloud has left your breast ; 
Then like the clear, and glowing morn. 
The sun of hope, shall timely dawn. 
To give you peace, and rest." 

''But father, all my faith is lost. 
No sun can drink the heavy dew, 
Nor melt the gathering frost. 
No subtle heart can find a clue 
To thwart the guilt oppressing wrath, 
Or to light my shadowed path." 



21 



"A vision, yes, for evermore, 
A beggar at the playhouse door, 
Shall stand before mine eyes. 
Oh ! nothing, nothing, can erase, 
The memory of thy bitter days. 
Or count my future sighs. 

"My heart, my hope, is past and gone. 

Existence now is but to mourn. 

For all thy misery. 

I'll whet my knife upon thy breath. 

And ere thy limbs are cold in death, 

My soul shall follow thee. 

**Give me thy hand ! Oh, God, 'tis cold ! 

The work of death is brief and bold, 

Relentless its demand. 

Come then, dear father, from this woe. 

Together let us peaceful go, 

Enfolded, hand-in-hand. 

''Oh, what a strange and cowardly fear, 
Comes stealing o'er me now: 
My heart is swelling, and the drops, 
Stand thick upon my brow. 

''Oh, urge me on, dear father. 
For I see thine end is near ; 
I would not for all promised joys, 
Remain a dweller here." 



22 



The log that burned upon the grate, 
Was now consumed, ahnost too late 
To add new fuel there. 
The ghastly blaze of the candle's wick, 
The solemn stroke of the old clock's tick. 
Were lost in dumb despair. 

He raised the glittering steel, and pressed 
Its point against his heavins; breast ; 
And despite his father's pleading cry. 
He stood unchanged, resolved to die. 

One moment more, and the clodding blood 
Came forth in one continuous flood ; 
The old man shrieked, and tossed his head. 
Threw up his hands, and fell back — dead ! 

The young man stood and madly stared, 
With raining eyes, and heart prepared 
To shrink — not to defend. 
No word, no whisper, not a prayer, 
Had come to break the silence there. 
Or to cheer his tragic end. 

And now the soul, the blazing light 
Of life, is passing on from day to night ; 
Is rising with its crimson stain, 
From woe to woe, from pain to pain. 



23 



His mother and his cliildliood days, 
Came up before him once again ; 
Her rosy smiles and winning ways, 
Relieved, for a time, his writhing pain. 

And then her cold, and senseless form, 
With sunken cheeks, and snow-white hair ; 
The wreck of life's most bitter storm. 
Was vividly reposing there. 

And then his father, poor old soul ! 

With tottering limbs, and wrinkled brow ; 

Pursued by famine to his goal, 

Has sought, and found, his haven now. 

And then there came a virgin maid. 
In garments pure and white arrayed ; 
And daintily upon her head. 
Sweet orange blossoms now were spread. 

She stood, enshrouded in a veil. 

That hung its clustering folds around 

Her delicate form, and hid her blushing face, 

That fain would tell the oft-told tale 

Of lover's vows ; of nights and days, that found 

Anew, some irksome hours of grace. 



24 



He ffll upon his knees, and cried : 
*' My Hattie ! Oh, my love, my bride ! 
My soul, mine all, come fly with me, 
Away to the shores of eternity ! " 

He sank, exhausted to the floor, 
And faintly cried, "No more ! No more ! 
Then came sweet, balmy, soothing death, 
And quickly sealed his gasping breath. 



1 TRRflRY OF CONGRESS 

Mi 



